


Sky Fall (not literally, but it may as well be)

by Speckleflower



Category: Original Work
Genre: Despair, Gen, Natural Disasters, totally did this for english homework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speckleflower/pseuds/Speckleflower
Summary: There's a man on the beach.Something terrible has happened, and now he has to come face to face with it.He would run away from it all, but there's one problem--his feet are frozen in place.In front of him lie the remains of everything he held most dear to his heart.There is a man on this beach.
Kudos: 7





	Sky Fall (not literally, but it may as well be)

**Author's Note:**

> Heye, I give you... an original one shot!  
> I enjoy writing short bursts of creative writing like this, so expect more to come!

The forces of the planet were battling, and when humankind got in the way… they did not discriminate. Gust, and the wind struck the trees with vehemence rivalling no other, like an infinite resource of anger drained from all the world that would never be depleted. Wave, and knives of water would slice through anything, crush everything under a whirlpool and tangle of the very element that gave life to the world.

But its saviour had turned on humanity. Temperamental in the form of the raging storm.

Even the trees—greenhouses of Earth, emerald graces of light—whipped their branches in a thrashing dance of terror, hurling logs that plunged into the earth and cracked it. Under the power of nature, man scurried, no more than mere mice, inferior against the sheer force of its adversary.

It was hardly a fair fight when you were literally fighting against the planet you were on.

When the rage of the storm had died down and it was satisfied with its destruction—not that it wouldn’t hunger to taste the sweet tang of death again—it relaxed, assessing what it had done.

Two hours later, the man in the red coat stood in front of the wrecked building.

“No,” he whispered, so quietly it was barely an utterance but a movement of his lips, the merest breath in the air. He swallowed, mouth growing dry. He should have returned earlier. He should have fought through the storm. No matter the consequences. Even if he _died_ on the way. He should have made sure they were safe. But he was ashamed to admit he had lingered in a more secure building before making his way here. 

He had left his family. On the coast, where it always hit worst.

So there, on the distressed greyed sand, shore lined with dirty strands of seaweed like lost pieces of a demented siren’s hair, he yelled, knowing that there was no way they could have escaped—their house was destroyed. And so he howled the names of his family. A lone wolf, up against the world.

And losing.

“Katherine! Andrew, Sara!” He sobbed, voice growing hoarse, vocal cords betraying him, giving up and stabbing through his throat like needles until he could feel no more, hear no more; he couldn’t even make out the sound of the blood roaring in his ears and he was drowning and-

“NO!” He screamed, clutching his hands to his head. “Aaargh!” With a growl, he staggered towards the shell of the building.

He knew what he would find. But he wouldn’t accept it, _couldn’t_ accept it. They had to have escaped, or hidden, or-

Frantically, he tore the door open, riddling his hands and forearms with splinters that dug in and drew blood, but he didn’t feel it. After ripping his way through the debris, he saw them. And it was then he knew they had had no chance whatsoever of escaping.

The amount of crimson that coated the grain of the wood littered around their bodies told him that.

Grief ripped through him like a merciless beast; it blasted through his very being, leaving no ounce of sanity. Unable to look at them any longer, he turned and sprinted from the skeleton of his home—no longer a dwelling, but a lost junkyard, a mess of timber and shattered glass. A place no one would go, no one would remember. Only when he had scrambled through it all and burst into the crisp salty air—which did nothing to ease his pain—he pivoted around, wails of despair punctuating his ragged breaths, mind numb.

Joel, broken beyond repair by the loss of his beloved family, stood on shaky legs as fragile and as brittle as matches in front of the crippled structure he had taken months to build. Now empty as his heart, devoid of life, leached of colour. Wood as dead as the family he had left behi- he bit his lip to end the thought so hard it drew blood but he didn’t care, couldn’t care-

The hovel of a man clenched his fists until his nails scored grooves into his palms, and through red-rimmed eyes he stared at what was left of his world, with murderous promise in his eyes.


End file.
